Heat
by Twylight
Summary: On the eve of Mello's first kill, he ponders his relationship with his best friend, Matt. However, he ends up going a bit further with his thoughts than expected.


HEAT

"Nothing discernable to the eye of the spirit is more brilliant or obscure than man;

nothing is more formidable, complex, mysterious, and infinite.

There is a prospect greater than the sea, and it is the sky;

there is a prospect greater than the sky, and it is the human soul."

Victor Hugo, _Les Miserables_

"Y'know, you're going to hell now, right?" Matt said with a sigh, smoke from his cigarette flowing out the slightly cracked window of his sedan. His tone was rather cool and casual for the serious subject matter. His eyes fell to the mess of blood, black leather, and blond locks that he called his childhood friend—Mello.

The blond at Matt's right wiped away the blood from his beaded rosary necklace with one of his gloved hands. It was a rather fitting action for Matt's statement at the moment. Mello's languid eyes crept over to his friend at his blasé comment; his silence spoke more to his friend than words really would. Still without a word, he returned to his bothersome chore of wiping the splattered blood from his leather vest and the pale skin of his cheek—he didn't need Matt to tell him that he was a murderer now. He knew he was a murderer the moment he'd shot his gun.

_Thou shalt not murder._

Of course, Mello knew it was a sin to kill in cold blood as he had. Being somewhat religious (his parents had apparently been Catholic), Mello knew he would have to pay for his sins someday. He knew without a doubt that his soul was indeed damned to hell or whatever fate awaited the wicked in death. He'd deal with that when the time came; he had bigger problems in life than answering to God at the moment. And, honestly, hell couldn't be worse than the shit hole of a planet he called home. At least he'd be able to keep that bastard Kira company when he met his in the end.

For the moment though—damnation or not—Mello needed to get a message out to the heads of organized crime in America and to Kira. Most importantly Kira. He set his gun aside and looked out the window; still without a response to his friend. He knew no amount of praying would save his soul from perdition or purgatory or whatever in the end anyhow. So, really, what was the major concern of killing now? Would he, perhaps, end up in a deeper, viler level of hell than he had before? Mello didn't care. Or maybe he did care since he was thinking about it now…

He sighed, wrapping his arms around himself as his eyes followed the blur of lights that passed by the soaked window of Matt's red car. Mello reached out, letting a hand on the cold glass as it fogged with his breath. He watched the droplets of rain slide gracefully down the glass. It reminded his of the blood of the man he'd just killed. How it had just as effortlessly trailed down the walls of the room.

It had rained like this that day…

A young, almost fifteen year-old, Mello threw several of his various black clothing items into a small, beat up bag. He'd managed to find the worn out thing lying around the old English orphanage he'd spent his entire life thus far at. The place was nothing but hollow memories to Mello though; nothing but white washed walls, bookcases, and ephemeral moments of happiness. It might have been a rather pessimistic way of seeing one's childhood home but Mello just happened to be a pessimist. Or more correctly, he liked he liked to think of the worst possible scenario and then correct his actions before letting said scenario happen.

Though, often, that didn't happen with his emotions the way they were.

Mello wasn't nearly as prudent and exact as his other housemates like L and Near were— but he liked to think he was occasionally. Mello was undeniably a very bright child. He was considered to be second (_with_ Near) for the position of "L" at the orphanage. "L" was more of a title than a name in a sense; yes, there was an actual man called L but it was more his title than his name. Actually, whoever succeeded L would most likely go by their own name. Mello would be "M" and Near would be "N". It was how things went at Whammy's House. And it was a system Mello never appreciated. He'd worked hard his whole life, yet he'd _always_ been compared to that tactical brat Near. Near, whose mind was more methodical and organized than Mello's, was considered to be a prodigy as was Mello. Though, Mello always felt he was second best. That angered him.

L had always praised him equally to Near though. The older man had always been kind to him and Mello treated his words like those of God himself sometimes. L had also commented that Mello possessed the skills of "taking action" more so than Near did. Mello had a sort of courage that his "siblings" did not that was true. L himself was sometimes very cautious. And, much like Mello, he hated "losing". Unlike Mello, however, he knew when to step back and look at his actions before going in head first.

Though, look where said cautious actions and careful planning got L—death and in Mello's eyes defeat. Not that he clearly saw it as a total "defeat". L was a kind person. And, in Mello's calculations, he almost thought that (perhaps) Kira had been someone close to L. Someone that, just maybe, L would have taken extra-caution in convicting? _Maybe_. Or possibly he hadn't had _enough_ evidence to convict the person he suspected…

L had been a wonderful detective, the most brilliant mind Mello had ever witnessed. He looked up to the older man like a brother, like someone he wanted to be, like someone he wanted to surpass. And when he found out that Kira—that bastard who hid his face from the world and cowered from afar while watching his victims die—had somehow outwitted L, Mello was furious. He wanted revenge and he also wanted to defeat Kira; after all, defeating Kira would be defeating both L and Near.

Making him number one.

That ideology, of being number one, was what made Mello _Mello_. He had to surpass everyone and anyone that got in his way. He wanted to be number one above any and everyone. And it wasn't just the thrill of competition that caused this ideology—No, it was the fear of someone being _better_ than him that got to Mello. He'd done his best to always outwit and outdo anyone who'd gotten in his way. Mello had made it a point to work hard his whole life—while certain things came so naturally for Near, Mello had to work for what he wanted. He studied, he practiced, and he was always looking to learn more. Anything that would help him at his goal of becoming the best; the most brilliant mind the world had ever seen.

He pressed as many chocolate bars as he could fit into his knapsack, "Fucking… clothes…" Mello growled before quickly pulling his clothing out and replacing them with chocolate bars he'd hidden in his small room; Roger and the other orphanage leaders had been nice in at least letting Mello have that much while he was growing up. Not that they allowed him much else otherwise.

Mello knew nothing of his past save for his name. He didn't know who his mother was or who is father was, all he knew is that his name was Mihael Keehl. He'd tried looking up his name and found that it was most likely from German background but he stopped there. Mihael Keehl wasn't who he was anyhow. No, he was definitely Mello. It was a nickname given to him by L himself about his various personality traits. A small joke about how "melodramatic" he'd been when he was younger; it was contradicting in some ways, considering that the word mellow itself meant calm and placid. And Mello was anything but. Though, the name had stuck. Much as his short chin length blonde hair, and bright blue eyes had remained in his older years.

That was another thing Mello was satisfied with besides his brain: his looks. Sure, it took a glance or two to realize that he was a man sometimes but he wasn't complaining. Mello had reached five foot seven and was at a decent weight. His eyes were somewhat lovely when he wasn't looking deranged and his hair was soft and straight. He'd been told he was "pretty" several times but he didn't care. He was happy that he wasn't ugly. He wasn't all that interested in intimacy or relationships anyhow; Mello didn't want to share the spotlight with anyone. No, if he ever did decide to 'love' like that, it would have to be someone who was sincerely willing to deal with Mello and his little inferiority complex.

He heard a knock on the door as he stuffed the rest of his chocolate into his bag and zipped it, "What?!" Mello snapped, watching as the door opened rather slowly. In walked in none other than his (only) friend.

Matt.

He was known as the 'loner' of Whammy's House. The boy spent more time with his Nintendo DS, his PSP, and his other handheld games than he ever did people. The only reason he and Mello were even friends was due to the blond taking the initiative to interact with him. Mello was probably the most sociable child at the orphanage. Everyone knew him; Mello made sure of it. He was always the one winning games and challenging people to games of chess or races. He was looked up to by many. Even Matt. And, since Matt would spend his days in his room, Mello of course had to make sure that the red head knew him.

Mello, when he was around six, walked right up to Matt and took his handheld game with the rather snide comment, "Can you only play video games? Or do you have an actual name?" he smiled afterwards as Matt stared in disbelief that someone had _actually_ attempted to communicate with him other than "hey kid, move".

And, from that day forward, Mello was a constant part of his life. His only friend. How someone as social, beautiful, and bright as Mello came to be his friend was something Matt often pondered. And when he heard that his only friend—his best friend—was leaving the house without him, it didn't sit too well with him at all; he wasn't letting him leave alone.

The red head leaned against the door with a cigarette hanging out of the corner of his mouth, his fingers were fiddling with the game in his hand and his eyes focused on the screen. Most might find this annoying or rude but it was typical Matt, "You know you're not supposed to be smoking, dipshit." Mello slipped his boots on and a pair of sunglasses.

"I heard you were leaving." Matt said, his eyes (hidden by his trademark goggles) drifted up from his game. Mello gave the other a small look of shock—Matt rarely looked up from that damned game voluntarily, "Why?" he asked, his finger pausing the game which he soon put in his pockets before blowing a puff of smoke into the air.

Mello stared for a moment, absorbing what had just happened, before he walked over and plucked the cigarette from the other's mouth, "Because. I'm not letting that asshole Near beat me. I'm doing things on my own." He said before dousing the cigarette on the wall and tossing it into the trash. Matt merely shrugged at lit another, "Why do you care?"

"Well," Matt put his lighter away after he'd lit his cigarette, "I was thinking I might come with you. You know. Since you're the only person I talk to here. And things'll get boring without you to get me in trouble or make mischief." He smiled, just slightly, "And you'll get lonely. I know you will."

"Fuck you." Mello promptly snapped, tossing his knapsack of chocolates over his shoulder, "Do I look like I'm lonely? No. Do I look like I care about loneliness? No. Go," he paused, frustrated, "go play your damn game. I don't need you. I don't need Near or-or L. I don't need Roger. I don't need anyone. This is something I'm doing by myself." Mello's eyes fell just so as he passed his friend. _This is something I _have_ to do by myself._

But Matt seemed persistent.

"Sure." Matt followed Mello, catching the older boy off guard a bit as the redhead followed him in an almost eerie silence other than the sounds of his footsteps, "I didn't say you needed me. I said you'd be lonely. I don't think that necessarily implies a need considering you could be lonely but not really need someone, right?" Matt himself was a sharp guy despite his socially awkward state, "How about I just come with you for myself then? Hm? Would that make it okay? I know you don't like to lean on anyone. And, really, with that knapsack of chocolate, who is gonna carry the real necessities. Am I right?"

Mello paused—oh, that little shit was trying to beat him, wasn't he? Asshole. Stupid asshole. Matt knew how to push his buttons, he really did.

The blond turned back to his friend, still with that air of confidence he always had about him, "I have more than chocolate in here, moron." He lied, not wanting to be beaten of course, "But since you so offered to be my pack mule and we all know I can't leave a whiney baby like you alone, how about this: meet me at the train station at midnight. We can't be seen leaving together. It would cause too much commotion." Mello gazed over at Matt who nodded, "Midnight exactly. I'm not waiting any longer."

With that, he turned from his friend and walked out the door into the storm that had been raging outside. He knew that, within the hour, everyone would know he was missing and there would be turmoil about the house. That would create enough of a diversion for someone like Matt—an infamous loner—to leave. No one would really suspect that Matt would follow him. Other than Near of course. Though, Mello knew that Near wouldn't do anything to stop Matt so there was no sense in worrying over the matter…

"We're back." Mello's eyes opened to the uncomfortable sensation of light against his sensitive eyes. He'd fallen asleep on the car ride home apparently. He blinked as he smelled a distinct scent of cigarettes and Matt surrounding him. What the hell? He felt something fluffy hitting his cheek and he realized that, in his sleep, Matt had put that damned fuzzy, piece of shit vest around him. Asshole.

He looked back at his friend who'd parked in the garage of their small hideout as he slide the vest from his shoulders. Matt strolled around the car and opened the door for Mello, "Stop looking so serious. Your pretty face will develop wrinkles that way." He offered his friend a small smile before holding his hand out to help the other from the car. Mello first shoved his obnoxious, fluffy vest at him before he allowed Matt to pull him to his feet.

It has been too long a day.

Mello kept his hand in Matt's longer than he needed to as he settled onto his feet. His eyes drifted up to the slightly younger man's face for a moment, looking at his dark blue eyes through the bottle green of his goggles. He reached up with his free hand, curiously, and pushed the goggles upward, "You shouldn't follow me into hell, Matt." His lips curved into a sad smirk, "You'll get burned." Mello _did_ care about Matt despite how his (joking) verbal abuse. Matt was someone who was always there for him; the _only one_ who was always there for him. And if there was one thing that would break Mello's heart, it would be not just losing Matt, but being responsible for his death in some way.

Mello knew that if that happened, the guilt would eat at him slowly and tortuously.

Matt looked down at his friend, watching Mello's blank, blue eyes as they focused on his own. He smirked just so, "Well, then it's a good thing I like the heat, isn't it?" he said before letting his friend's hand go and moving to open the back door of his. Mello frowned at that answer; typical Matt. He would say something like that, wouldn't he? He crossed his arms defiantly as Matt reemerged from the backseat with their equipment slung over his arms. He had indeed become his little pack mule amongst other things.

"You're an idiot." Mello bumped his hips casually against the car door to shut it, "Saying something like that is like saying you'd jump off a cliff because you like heights." He muttered as Matt followed him into their safe house. It always frustrated Mello—correction, _Matt_ always frustrated Mello—when he was left speechless by the other man.

What could he say to that: _Well, then it's a good thing I like the heat, isn't it? _

Matt had willingly followed him to America, away from the safety of their orphanage back in Britain. He'd now participated in the murder of a man and shot one or two himself. Friend or not, Mello hadn't thought he'd have such dedication from someone. Mello might have blushed if he were the type. His beady blue eyes carefully watched as Matt circled the kitchen counter into their living room; Mello followed with his hands in his pockets and his head down, "Tomorrow we're going after that Italian guy." He said, loudly, hoping to catch Matt's attention. Mello quietly walked into the kitchen to get himself his favorite snack—chocolate.

The red-head looked up, watching Mello with a small eye roll as he lit a cigarette and fished around in his pockets for his lighter, "Sure. What time?"

Mello almost wanted some sort of 'no' from him but instead Matt merely said 'yes' like the good little puppy he was. "Same time. Nine." His voice almost hissed as he spoke, his gaze flickering between Matt and his chocolate. He firmly settled on the chocolate however, finding that looking at Matt made him somewhat nervous.

"That's good." Matt said, turning on his game with a sigh, "So. Just to clarify again, why the mafia?"

The blond snapped a square of his chocolate bar off cooly, "Because. If the police were as organized as organized crime, we'd have caught Kira by now. Not to mention," Mello walked over and sat next to his friend with an inviting smirk, "I've always had a thing for guns and money."

"And blowing things up. You and I both know you have an unhealthy obsession with blowing shit up, Mello-dearest. Oh and chocolate. One wonders why you're not three hundred pounds by now, my dear." Matt looked over, returning his friend's catty, know-it-all smirk. It was then he just had to take particular notice his friends' choice of apparel. He wondered how Mello could prance around in that tight leather all day, with a gun in his pants, a chocolate bar in hand, and still call himself all-man.

Mello leaned closer to Matt, "Oh? Really, because I'd say your tobacco addiction and orgasming over video games would be worse. And don't get me started on how many bags of potato chips you go through." He slipped his jacket off and leaned back on the couch—Matt's eyes flowed just so, hidden by the rims of his goggles. Mello looked over, noticing Matt's eyes on him just a bit. What was he looking at? Mello looked down at himself, noticing his black, zippered up vest had ridden up some, and his far-too-tight black leather pants were settling a little lower than usual. Oh, that little pervert. And here he thought Matt liked women, "Stop ogling me like some five dollar tramp, asshole. Get hooker if you need to get your damned rocks off."

Matt's head snapped up; shit, he'd been looking at him, hadn't he? Ah well. Nothing new there. Mello begged to be looked at in that damned leather two piece and he knew it. Matt shrugged, not really embarrassed, "Well, Mello, when you dress like a hooker, one could easily assume..."

"Assume what?" Mello glared, tapping the chocolate against the rim of his mouth, "Oh, fuck off. I dress fashionably. Better than you do with your furry abomination you call a vest. And your top is obnoxious." He snapped another square of chocolate off, chewing it furiously, "Asshole."

Asshole seemed to be Mello's favorite nickname for him—a pet name, maybe?

Matt chuckled and continued with his game, not miffed in the least; he was too used to Mello to be hurt be his harsh words. Matt was called 'asshole', 'dipshit', 'fucker', or other colorful nicknames at least once an hour when in Mello's presence. He thought of them as pet names almost.

"Just saying, Mells." Matt tapped furiously at his handheld, "You'd look hot in a dress. And make up." He chewed on the edge of his cigarette, "Just saying." He looked over at his blond friend—he looked pissed. And in a moment, he was staring at the steel of Mello's gun.

Mello glared, "And you'd look hot with your brain matter splattered on the damn floor, Matt." He pulled the gun away, knowing he wasn't threatening Matt all that much—they had small spats like this often. And it wasn't the first time Matt had admitted to Mello looking like the other gender. He wasn't too offended anyhow; Mello knew he was a man and he didn't care what anyone else thought at the moment.

He leaned back against the couch, frustrated. Tomorrow was going after that Italian group. They were an infamous family within L.A. They specialized in various things such as illegal drugs, putting out and dealing hits, and Black Market activity. The leader of the family had only showed his face in few places—especially with the development of Kira. He had a feeling this would be a somewhat risky ordeal considering.

And he knew that word would get round about what he'd done to that Russian mob boss soon enough. Hell, the Italians probably knew about it already considering the Russians were one of their worst rivals on the streets. Matt seemed calm though. He had set everything up for tomorrow and Mello knew it would be successful; Matt had hacked into their computers and made sure their alarms wouldn't go off. He'd gotten a map of the building. Despite Mello's last flashy assassination (with explosives and the works), he decided to go with a more subtle approach.

He broke another piece of chocolate off, chewing thoughtfully. Or rather he was trying to think. Though, he found that difficult with the beeping and clicking of Matt's game. Usually, he was use to the noise, but for some reason he wanted to crack the screen of Matt's game at the moment. Mello turned to his friend and took the game away, turning it off and then tossing it back to him.

Matt glared and grabbed the chocolate bar from his mouth, tossing it on the ground and stomping on it until the sugary sweet was beaten in the floor. Mello, in turn, snapped the cigarette from his mouth and also threw it to the ground. He mashed his boot into it, smirking, "Okay. You win. What?" Matt sighed—admitting defeat was the best way to win with Mello.

"Your game was annoying me." Mello replied, looking mournfully at his chocolate bar, "And now you ruined my chocolate. Go get me another bar." He looked up at Matt, expecting him to get to it. However, instead of obeying like he always did, Matt didn't move a muscle, "Get. Me. Another. Chocolate. Bar." He spaced his words out, scowling at Matt with an expression that said he was thoroughly annoyed.

"You're a spoiled primadonna, you know that?" Matt said before turning his game on, "You had better hope I remembered to save at that save point back at that vill—" Mello smacked the game away from him and pushed Matt back on the couch, randomly on top of him. The red head looked up to his friend as he grabbed his collar—the blond looked miffed more so than pissed. It was rather cute more so than threatening; he'd let Mello think he was scary.

Mello had forgotten when he was going to say after he tackled Matt like he had. And, now that he was on top of him (straddling his hips and holding his wrists down), he felt rather stupid. He had a tendency to do this sometimes though; act before thinking. It was one of his weaknesses and he wouldn't let his weakness show. Instead, he smirked—keeping his confident, Mello attitude, "If I'm a spoiled primadonna, you're an antisocial, creepy pervert who probably spends more time in front of that damned game screen than with an actual person."

"I'm spending time with you now, aren't I?" Matt replied, coolly, calmly.

The blonde wanted to smack him, "You were just playing your game a few minutes ago."

"And you were staring into space and binging on chocolate a few minutes ago." Again, Matt was calm, without much emotion in his tone. He found that that tone in particular annoyed and irritated his friend; it was like Matt wasn't taking Mello seriously. And anyone who knew Mello knew that the feisty blond liked being taken seriously. And, indeed, Mello was a little pissed off. At the moment, however, Matt was in no mood for one of the blond's tantrums, "Come on, Mells, this is ridiculo—" Before Matt could finish his sentence, he noticed Mello's face getting closer to his. His soft, pinks lips forced themselves on Matt's, devouring the remainder of whatever Matt was trying to say.

Matt started, not entirely expecting that. His eyes were wide open, rather than traditionally closed, as Mello's lips moved against his. Did Mello know what he was doing? For a moment, Matt thought all that chocolate had gone to his head. Or maybe the taste of chocolate in Mello's mouth was going to his head as he closed his eyes and kissed the blond back.

Mello hadn't realized he'd kissed Matt until he felt something soft against his mouth, followed by the gritty taste of cigarettes. His eyes were closed, but he knew what he'd done. He'd kissed Matt. He'd fucking kissed Matt. Why? Well, that answer wasn't clear to him at the moment. All he knew was he was kissing his best friend and it felt so very right.

He found himself dazed for a moment, moving his lips against Matt's stiff ones. God, he'd wanted to do this for awhile, hadn't he? Or, at least, subconsciously, he had. Mello didn't know what it was about Matt—he acknowledged the red head was gorgeous—but something sparked a fire in him. Or, perhaps, it was hormones and Matt happened to be the victim of said hormones at the moment. Mello doubted that though, he could very well take "hormones" out in the shower with his right hand.

A shiver slide down his spine and wracked his whole body as Matt's lips started to move against his. Oh, God, Matt was kissing him back. Mello loosed his grip on Matt's wrists and soon the other boy's arms were around him, pulling him closer. A gloved hand tangled in Mello's soft, blonde locks.

When the hell did Matt learn to kiss like this?

Read the rest at -- anime.adult fan fiction . net /story.php?no600045005 (minus the space between "adult", "fan" ,"fiction" , "." and "net")


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